Both of Us
by crying seas
Summary: In the bottom row, after all the meats and vegetables and an unusually large amount of oranges, was a neat row filled with cans and cans of Ponta. So they had something in common after all. - When Ryoma's parents die, he gets sent to live with Ryoga.
1. Chapter 1

**THE BOTH OF US **

Ryoma shifted in front of the doorbell, his throat growing dry. He swallowed, trying to suppress the urge to run away. He knew that the penthouse inside would offer him a home, a life, a school, and an older brother, but he didn't _want_any of those things. He only wanted his cat, his friends from Seigaku, and his parents.

Karupin poked his head out from his bag. He meowed softly.

"Hey, Karu." Ryoma patted the kitten. He eyed the door again. He really didn't want to go in. He didn't even look good right now. His eyes were heavy from no sleep, and his hair was a mess on top of his head. He felt like he hadn't gotten any food in his stomach in ages, and his frail frame showed the consequences.

Then there were his friends. Ryoma's cell phone beeped. He scrolled through.

_Have you arrived safely?_– Tezuka

_Hey, Echizen, have fun in Los Angelos! Go gambling! Get girls! –_Momo

_We miss you already, Ochibi!_ – Kikumaru.

Ryoma snorted. He wasn't old enough to gamble, and he wasn't interested in girls at the moment. His eyes shadowed over. Tears clung under his lashes, and he wiped a hand over them. The goal was to _not_think about his parents or that he had to leave behind people he could finally call his friends. The goal was to…adjust.

He wiped a sweaty hand on his shorts. He wasn't sure if he could.

He reached for the doorknob, then pulled back. He didn't want to do this. He _couldn't._How was any of this fair? He barely knew Ryoga.

Ryoma's eyes scoped the long corridor of the apartment. It was a really nice apartment – expensive, and luxurious. Almost like a nice hotel. It wouldn't have been a problem living here, if it was temporary. That was the key word: _temporary._But this was all too permanent. He would be alone, with a man he barely knew, with the ache of his parents' death still fresh in his heart.

The door clicked, sliding open a crack.

Ryoma felt his blood run cool. Should he just go in? Was that a welcome?

He shook his head, tried to clear up his jumbled thoughts, and took a step inside. "Uh, it's…Ryoma," he said. He hated the way his voice sounded, (so small, so _broken_) but he couldn't dwell on it when he saw the penthouse. It was a _nice_place. It was clean and new. The centerpiece was shiny with a bowl of fake fruit in the middle. The curtains on the window were a silhouette of light, and even from his distance, Ryoma could see the grand overview of the city. It would be nice living here, if it weren't for his circumstances.

He heard ungraceful footsteps come from the bathroom door. "Hold on," a voice said. "I'll be out in two seconds."

A moment later, Ryoma heard a loud curse, before the door flew open and a man walked out.

Ryoma took an unsteady step backwards. So this was Echizen Ryoga, his older brother, seven years later. He had changed.

His was tall, and broad-shouldered. His skin glowed from a vibrant summer tan. His hair and eyes were the same as Ryoma's, although Ryoma had a feeling Ryoga's eyes were on the lighter side. Fuller, and more whole. He wore only a towel around his waist, and seemed to be in the process of shaving.

They stared at each other awkwardly.

"Welcome," Ryoga finally said. His voice was smooth, and friendly. "Uh, I guess…you can make yourself at home."

That really didn't help. Ryoma pulled his suitcase in, then stood in place. He didn't know what to do. His brother just stared at him, looking kind of funny with white cream still smeared on his chin. After a moment, Ryoga excused himself, went back into the bathroom, and came back fully clothed. He spun keys in his finger.

"I'm going to go out." He shifted. "And, uh, nice cat."

Ryoma felt a stab in his chest. So, Ryoga would leave him by himself the first minute they met. That was actually fine with him. He didn't even know this guy.

"My room?" Ryoma finally asked.

"I only have one room," Ryoga scratched the back of his neck. "We have to share a bed. But I have…erm…girls over sometimes. There's a fold out bed for that, alright?"

Ryoma lifted a brow. "My stuff?"

"Leave it in the room," he said. He jabbed a thumb to the bathroom. "Shower's in there." It moved far back. "Balcony's over there."

There was another pause.

"You good?"

Was he _good_? Ryoma wanted to knock Ryoga on the head. He barely knew him, the guy hadn't even bothered to talk to him aside from the necessary details, and was planning on leaving him alone for the night. Ryoma wasn't _good._He just wished he could be back home in Japan, where his old shrine overlooked a thicket of cherry blossoms. Where his father hummed over stupid magazines and his mother cooked breakfast at the stove. Where his _friends_were, his tennis was, and his life was.

"I'm good," Ryoma said without blinking.

"My number's on the fridge. Call me if you need anything."

And then, like a desperate spider trying to crawl away before it got swatted, Ryoga swooped out of the door and shut it behind him.

Ryoma was left alone. The electricity lines hummed. The city looked magnificent from the window, wide and far in a long stretch of buildings.

His life, currently, was crap.

Ryoma dropped his bags with a thump. He sat down, almost numbly on the couch. And then, with as much dignity as he could, he started to cry. He buried his face in the pillow, hoping the wetness would dry out by the time Ryoga would come back. Shoulders shaking, he let a stream of tears soak through the fabric.

Why did his life have to be turned upside down? Couldn't his mom and dad just _not_have been in a stupid accident?

Why did he have to stay with Ryoga? The guy was practically a stranger to him.

Karupin crawled onto the couch, prodding his nose into Ryoma's stomach. When the only response he got was Ryoma crying harder, the kitten nuzzled itself into the crook of Ryoma's neck. His fluffy tail tickled Ryoma's nape. At least he had his freaking cat. Telling himself to stop being stupid, Ryoma sat up and held Karupin close to him.

"I don't even know where the tennis courts are," he whispered to Karupin. "Isn't that just a disaster?"

Karupin snuggled into Ryoma's lap. His meow was the equivalent of a careless yawn.

His cell phone rang.

Ryoma picked it up. "Hello?" he hated the fact that his voice was scratchy from crying. "Momo-senpai?"

His insides filled with warmth at the familiar voice. "Yo, Echizen? How's Los Angelos? Wait…were you crying?"

Damn it. "_No._"

"Oh, okay, it just…it sounded like…you know what, Nevermind. So, how is it?"

He gulped back a threatening sob. "It's big."

"Are there tennis courts?"

"I don't know. Probably. I haven't seen them yet."

"What? You resisted?" Momo feigned shock.

"I just got here."

"Still. Man, remember to play tennis lots, okay? Or I'll beat you when we play a match."

Ryoma felt the edges of a cheeky smirk crawl onto his face. "As _if._Momo-senpai sucks."

"I'm your senpai, Echizen," Momo attempted to sound serious. "You can't treat me like that, you just can't."

"I just did, though," Ryoma said. "The only move you have is the dunk smash."

"What? _No._ I have the jack knife too!"

"Momo-senpai, just admit you aren't better than your kouhai."

"I will be!" Momo said desperately.

Ryoma felt the glow of a smile on his face as he finished assuring Momo that he was fine and great and hung up. He felt a lot better after talking to his friend. Stroking Karupin's fur, Ryoma was suddenly aware that he was painfully hungry. He'd barely ate on the plane, and he'd been too sick with fear to eat anything afterwards.

He ambled over to the fridge.

When he opened it, he felt the curves of his first, _real_smile spread to his cheeks.

In the bottom row, after all the meats and vegetables and an unusually large amount of oranges, was a neat row filled with cans and cans of Ponta.

So they had something in common after all.

**.**

He spent the remains of the day drinking Ponta and watching TV with Karupin. It was really lonely, and he felt even lonelier with the darkness blinking outside the window. He tried to think positive. At least he wasn't making awkward conversations with a brother he wished he didn't have. At least there was Ponta.

At about ten, he heard the front door open. He craned his neck back to see Ryoga walk in. He was holding a bottle of beer.

"Hey," Ryoga said. "You find it okay?"

"Yeah." Ryoma curled up into the couch.

Ryoga capped the beer and tossed it in the trash. He shuffled around the kitchen a bit, before he sat down across from Ryoma with an orange. There more awkwardness. Ryoma focused on the lamp above Ryoga's head, trying not to make eye contact. His brother slurped away on his orange. It was faintly disturbing to see how he sucked the juice out, like a vampire sucking the blood of a human.

Ryoma watched him intently.

"So." Ryoga shifted. "You sleepy?"

_Yes._"Not really."

Another thundering silence.

"Look." Ryoga sat up and leaned in. "I have no rules. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Go outside, spend some money, eat my food."

Ryoma stared at his thick brows. "Okay."

"But don't get in my way, alright?" Ryoga sounded uncomfortably pissed off, if that was a feeling. "I'm not going to take care of you or something, if that's what you expect. You live here, I live here, but I'm not…your guardian or whatever." He munched on his orange, stretching his long legs out on the other couch. "Just so you know."

Ryoma didn't _expect_him to take care of him, but he hated how harsh his brother was being. It made him feel like he was just getting in his way. Maybe he should have ran off into the countryside and lived alone illegally.

"I can take care of myself," Ryoma finally said.

Ryoga snorted. "You're twelve. Like hell. But you can learn."

"You don't need to be such an ass about it."

The words came out on impulse, and Ryoma bit his tongue. Damn. The last thing he needed was to agitate the person who was giving him a place to live. It wasn't his fault, though. He wasn't used to being shoved down, like he wasn't important. He wasn't used to being treated so carelessly.

But Ryoga looked amused. "Ah, well. I needed to get things across."

"No." His pride and sensibility battled each other. His pride won. "I wasn't going to bother you anyway. It's not like I want to be here."

Ryoga's face turned colder. "I don't want you here either."

Great. They had another thing in common.

They sat in thick tension for another minute. Ryoga stood up, yawning. "I'm going to go sleep." He didn't ask if Ryoma was sleeping on the couch or not, but when the bedroom door shut and locked behind him, Ryoma knew he was spending the night on the couch. He shivered, but didn't want to ask for a blanket.

The ceiling was dark. The shadows of the house were foreign. Wind slipped in through the open crack of the window.

He _hated_everything.

_Everything._

He wanted to be back in Japan. He just wanted his parents back.

Ryoma's eyes burned, the familiar sting of tears clinging to his eyes. He squeezed them shut, rolling on the couch. He remembered his mom's face – the warm flame that kept the house running. Her tousled morning hair, the smile she reserved only for him. Then he remembered his father – the silly old man that had taught him the most precious thing in his life, the tennis he treasured so dear to his chest.

Ryoma felt tears run down his face. He lay there and cried silently.

The bedroom door clicked open.

"Here," Ryoga said.

A blanket was tossed over his face, before the door shut again.

"Thanks," Ryoma said, but his voice was thick from tears. He didn't think he would get any sleep tonight. Karupin crawled onto his chest, burying himself into Ryoma's warmth. His cat only made him want to cry more. He wrapped his arms around Karupin. At least he had his kitten. He didn't know what he would do without him.

The only piece of his old life that was honestly left.

**.**

Ryoma woke up to sunlight in his face. He winced, and sat up.

Ryoga was humming by the breakfast table, spreading butter on toast. He looked so cheerful, friendly. It was weird how cold he had been the night before. Ryoma sat there and watched him wash his hands, sit down, and take a bite out of his bread. He watched Ryoga chew, then gulp on orange juice.

Ryoga caught him looking. "You hungry?"

"Um…" Ryoma slipped off of the couch. He took out his bathroom supplies and headed in. "I'm going to go brush and take a shower."

"Okay." Ryoga shrugged. "I'm going out again. You can make yourself anything you want."

_I'm going out again._Ryoma resisted the urge to slam the door shut. He didn't particularly like his company, but what was he supposed to do the whole day? Sit and watch television with his cat for the rest of his life? _How lame._When Ryoma was freshly dressed, he came in to see the house empty.

He decided to have Ponta and the sushi-mix Kawamura had given him before he left. It wasn't an ideal breakfast, but it tasted good.

"Sushi for breakfast?"

Ryoma jumped. Ryoga grinned at him.

So he _had_been in the house.

"I thought you were leaving." Ryoma willed himself not to sound bitter.

"I am, but I needed to make a few calls first." Ryoga arched his brow. "All my Ponta is pretty much gone. Did you…"

Ryoma looked down at his lap. "Uh…"

"You drank it _all_in _one_night?" He looked impressed.

Ryoma eyed him as he slid into the chair across from him, resting his chin on his hands, elbows propped up on the table. So they were talking now? Ryoma thought they were supposed to act all cold and unfriendly. That's how Ryoga had been acting the night before. He suddenly seemed too warm.

Ryoma slanted his eyes in suspicion. "I thought you were leaving."

"In a minute. Geez. I feel like you want me out of the house or something."

"I feel like _you_wanted to get out of the house yesterday, and changed your mind."

Ryoga looked guilty. "Okay, you caught me. But it's not my fault. I'm always out of the house." He paused. "I don't mean to brag, but I have a lot of friends."

Lucky him. Ryoma didn't care for the quantity of friends he had, but he did feel a bit jealous that Ryoga got to stay here with everyone he knew, while his friends were all the way across the world. Couldn't Ryoga have been forced to come to Japan instead? He brightened at the vision. That would have been perfect.

"Look." Ryoga exhaled. "Can I ask you something?"

Ryoma tensed. "Yeah?"

"What were mom and dad like?"

The question felt like it pierced right through his chest, into his heart, stabbing at his soul. _Their_parents? Who was he to call them mom and dad? He wasn't even around. He'd only been there a couple of years. Bastard. Ryoma grinded his teeth together, feeling a swell of anger at his brother. And that was why he'd been acting so nice. So he could get answers.

"I don't know." Ryoma's voice was slick as ice. "Maybe you should have stayed to find out."

Ryoga stared at the fake fruit. "I just want to know."

_Too bad,_Ryoma's heart squeezed. He didn't want to talk about his parents. They were gone, dead. He hadn't thought about it at all this morning. Why did he have to bring it up again?

Ryoga cleared his throat. "Did they die in a car accident, or what?"

_Shut up. Shut up._

Ryoma's fingers curled around his Ponta, shaking. His glare burned into Ryoga's face.

"Can you just leave?"

"This is my apartment room," Ryoga said calmly. "And I just asked a few questions."

_Insensitive asshole._

"And I don't want to answer your questions."

They stared at each other, and for the first time since he'd came, Ryoma hesitantly met his eyes. He hated how familiar the gold, sharp eyes were to his own. His own were rounder, bigger, while Ryoga's were narrower, but they were still the same boiling colour. He hated that. He didn't want anything to do with Ryoga.

"You're kind of short, you know," Ryoga finally said. "Like a chibi."

"I'm twelve," Ryoma snapped.

"Yeah, but still." Ryoga tapped his fingers on the table. The house was silent, apart from the tapping. Ryoma tried to eat the remains of his breakfast, but felt oddly self-conscious. After a long moment, Ryoga jumped to his feet and headed for the door. _Finally,_Ryoma thought as he watched Ryoga slip on his shoes and open the door.

"Alright, I'm leaving." Ryoga turned to close the door, but before he did, he looked over his shoulder. "See you later, Chibisuke." And then he was gone.

Ryoma choked on his Ponta.

_Chibisuke?_

How _dare_Ryoga give him a nickname.


	2. Chapter 2

**THE BOTH OF US **

_Chibisuke._

Ryoma was still seething as he finished up his breakfast. Did Ryoga think he had permission to go around calling him nicknames like they were _close_ or something? They'd barely known each other for more than a day, and already, this "Chibisuke" name had popped up. Ryoma wondered how much he would get teased as they got to know each other more.

Outside, he could see the tall buildings and sky scrapers that reached for the clouds. The sun shone out from a clear sky.

It would be a good day for tennis.

**.**

The tennis courts near his apartment weren't all that nice, but they were the only ones he'd found. The fence had been trashed. Random cans and litter lined the edges of the court. The net had a hole in it. But it still had that familiar taste of balls and racquet. Ryoma found a corner and started practicing.

Ever since his parents had died, it had been him and tennis against the world.

He felt so _alone _(and _lost_ and _broken_) that he could do the only thing he knew how to: play tennis, again and again, over and over until he hit exhaustion. When he heard people talking about their parents, complaining about how their mom had made them clean their room, he felt pent up anger that he fought not to release.

When they saw him looking, they would hush down with pity.

In a way, it was nice being in Los Angelos. Being away from people who knew about what had happened. It made it easier to forget.

"You're here?"

Ryoma felt his grip tighten. Why the hell was he here?

Ryoga strolled over to him, dressed in tennis clothes. He was eating an orange and holding a racquet. "Geez, I swear, you're following me." He sounded annoyed, the edges of his tone sharp with malice. Even though the guy looked all friendly, he seemed to get pissed off really easily. Ryoma continued to ignore him.

"Can you go?" Ryoga asked.

Ryoma's breath was ragged as he played. "What do you mean?"

"I want to play alone."

"Well," Ryoma whirled around, halting with the ball in his hand. "I was here first."

"Yeah, I know, but you're staying with me so…"

"So you can just order me around?" Ryoma snapped. "Che, you're an idiot if you think I'll do what you say."

He didn't know why they were getting in each other's faces. Ryoga looked like he was in a bad mood, and Ryoma was frustrated with everything that was happening in his life: his parents, being away from his friends, stuck with a guy who didn't give a crap about what he said. Maybe this was all a very bad idea.

Ryoga sighed, and tossed his ball up and down. "Wanna play a match then?"

Ryoma blinked. "What?"

"A match." Ryoga shrugged. He smirked, lip curling. "If you're up for the challenge, Chibi-suke."

Ryoma recoiled. "Don't call me that."

"Why not, Chibisuke?"

"Stop."

"Chibisuke, Chibisuke, CHIBISUKE!"

Ryoma lifted his fist to throw a punch, but Ryoga caught his wrist deftly. His smirk grew wider. "Don't be so hasty," he said. "I was told you were a calm little one, but apparently that isn't the case."

Struggling against Ryoga's iron grip, Ryoma's mind went into overdrive. He didn't understand why Ryoga was making fun of him all of a sudden. Did he react in a funny way, so it encouraged him? Was this his way of trying to get closer? Ryoma yanked his hand back like it burned. He didn't need Ryoga to wade his way into his life.

They were already living together. Joking was on a whole other level. One Ryoma wasn't prepared for yet.

Ryoga's brow furrowed. "So you don't want to play?"

"No," Ryoma said. "Go away."

He heard footsteps fade behind him, and wondered if Ryoga had left. He didn't dare look back until five minutes later. Ryoga was still there, sitting in the corner with his legs pulled to his chest, starting on another orange. He was watching Ryoma, head tilted with a thoughtful expression on his face. Ryoma's body flooded with anger.

_Ugh._

He wished he would go away.

"Why are you watching me?" he yelled over the sound of the swishing tennis racquet.

Ryoga grinned. "You're not bad."

"You suck," Ryoma said back, with his own, shaky smirk.

Ryoga arched his brow, and jumped to his feet. "Now, now, don't come to such rash conclusions, Chibisuke. You've never even seen me play."

"I'm better," Ryoma said. He didn't say, _I love tennis more than you do._

Ryoga shuffled up to him, quietly, sucking on the last of his orange. Ryoma wondered if he had an addiction. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he asked. Ryoma felt a familiar dread peak in his stomach. The last time Ryoga had said that, he'd asked about his parents, and nearly made Ryoma cry.

This time…would he?

"You already did," Ryoma snubbed.

Ryoga chuckled, shaking his head. "So lame,"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Ryoga laughed again, before his eyes got serious. "It's just…dad taught you tennis, right? He taught me a bit when I was there. Are you…" he fiddled with his racquet, staring up at the bright blue of the sky. "What did he teach you? Are you stronger than him?" The questions came softly but quickly.

Ryoma's throat grew dry. He could already feel tears growing in his eyes. "I can't tell you." He licked his lips.

"Please?" Ryoga said. "I want to know. He was my father too."

"No!" Ryoma heart jumped in his chest. "No, he wasn't. He was mine. And he's dead. Fuck off."

Ryoga eased a step back. "I just want to – "

"I said fuck off." Ryoma's voice held tremor. He felt his mind battle against crying and pride. He didn't understand why Ryoga was so adamant about talking about this when Ryoma had clearly conveyed he didn't want to. And it wasn't just that he didn't want to – he _couldn't,_ without falling into a muddled mess of tears.

"I don't have to do anything." Ryoga spun the tennis ball on his finger. "I don't know if you recall, but you're living with me. You're under my rules."

Ryoma sneered. "Yesterday you said you're not my guardian, and that I can do whatever I want, remember?"

Ryoga's eyes were hard and narrow. He let the racquet fall onto the ground with a soft clatter. "I didn't ask you anything big. I'm just curious. I haven't seen dad and mom for years, and now they're dead, and the least you can do is at least tell me something – " _shut up, shut up, shut up_. Pulling himself together, Ryoma shoved Ryoga hard.

Ryoga stumbled backwards. The ball fell from his grip and bounced off to the corner. His eyes slanted.

"I don't know if you understand that I'm older than you, Chibisuke,"

"Older, and a manwhore," Ryoma said. "When I wasn't here, I bet you fucked every girl in Los Angelo-"

Ryoga bared his teeth, and before Ryoma could blink, his head hit the pavement with a thud. His mind throbbed in agony. Ryoga's body felt like brick and iron on top of him, one of Ryoga's hands holding down Ryoma's right shoulder. Pain vibrated through his back. He glared, harshly, at his older brother. Was this it? His so-called brother was going to beat him up now?

Great. Just great. For the millionth time, why couldn't he just be back in Japan, living with Nanjiroh and Rinko, playing tennis with his senpai-tachi? Tears burned under his lashes. It took all of his strength to hold them back.

Ryoga's fingers dug painfully into the fabric of his shirt. His breathing was heavy. "It's not about you. Just because your – our – parents died, doesn't mean that you can just come in and act like you own the place. I don't even want you here, you know that? How do you think I feel when a twelve-year old kid barges into my life, huh?"

He paused, teeth set. "My life was running fine and smooth before you came along."

Ryoma's lip quivered. "My life was running fine and smooth too." He felt his shoulders shake. "Before my parents died and I was forced to live under your custody. And stop saying they're your parents. You weren't there. You left."

"I…shit." Ryoga ran his fingers through his hair, roughly. "You're being so annoying. I just asked a question, alright?"

"A stupid one," Ryoma snapped. Ryoga's grip loosened, and Ryoma wriggled from the ground and onto his feet.

Ryoga stared at the sun, which was floating to hide behind a cloud. "I hate kids."

"I hate you."

He earned a sharp glower. "Maybe I should just kick you out. You know, let you get a taste of how it feels to live on the street."

Ryoma snorted, but panic clouded his mind. Would Ryoga really kick him out? Then where would he go? Some kind of adoption centre? No way in hell. But…well, he could always stay with one of his senpai. But then he'd need to go back to Japan. Did he have the money for that? Ryoga wouldn't actually…kick him out, right? He wasn't allowed to do that. Surely, he wasn't allowed.

Ryoga jammed his hands in his pocket, slinging his fallen tennis racquet over his shoulder. "I was joking, sheesh." He looked back, and made a face of distaste. "Can't believe I've got to let such a Chibisuke tag along with me. Yuck."

The words were said jokingly, the tone easing fluidly. Ryoma watched Ryoga's back, and felt his legs move. It didn't matter. Ryoga's words still hadn't left his mind.

"I don't even want you here, you know that? How do you think I feel when a twelve-year old kid barges into my life, huh?"

"How do you think I feel?" Ryoma said bitterly.

Ryoga looked over his shoulder. "What was that?"

Ryoma looked at him, and felt Ryoga's acidic gaze pierce through his flesh. He knew, despite how friendly Ryoga acted at times, giving him nicknames and teasing him, that in the end, all he wanted was to be left alone. He didn't want Ryoma here. He didn't want a kid ruffling up his perfect little life. Ryoma gritted his teeth, and picked up his tennis bag.

Well – so what? He didn't want Ryoga either, right?

.

The penthouse was quiet. Ryoma leaned up against the balcony, watching the sea of people milling underneath him. The breeze on his cheeks was fresh, and he felt Karupin cuddle up between his ankles, pushing his furriness into his bare legs. Ryoga was inside, humming to himself as he ordered pizza on his laptop.

Ryoma had never felt so lonely. The sun was going down beyond the buildings. Crimson and orange melted into the sky.

Maybe he could… – his mind scrambled for options – run away?

No. That would be stupid. He didn't have money, he was twelve, and running around Los Angelos on his own was pretty much a suicidal statement itself. His mind felt thick with the heavy weight of lingering death. It was like his mind could never be freed from the images of his parents; their cold eyes in their graves, the paleness of their skin.

Even when he was talking, the weight still stayed. It just settled deeper in the back. Only tennis let him relax.

Ryoma gave out a frustrated growl in his chest. Maybe he needed therapy. Or maybe he needed to go seem some shrink. Or jump off this balcony.

He stared at the long stories below him. It certainely looking appealing. Hm. Suicide. Maybe…

"Here!" the balcony door whipped open, and a Ponta can was thrown at his head.

Or, maybe he simply needed a Ponta.

"You've been standing out there for an hour." Ryoga strolled in. "I ordered pizza. With pineapple."

Ryoma made a face, and uncapped the Ponta.

Ryoga shrugged. "Suck it up."

"I will suck it," Ryoma said, taking a sip from the Ponta to prove his point. Then, he realized how lame of a pun that was, and bit his lip. Ryoga just raised his brow, and chuckled under his breath, like he couldn't believe he was stuck with a loser like Ryoma. _Whatever_, Ryoma closed his eyes. His head hurt.

"You know, you shouldn't go around on your own," Ryoga said. "That tennis club is kind of dingy. Some guy'll probably beat you up."

"You nearly did," Ryoma said.

"Don't be a baby." Ryoga rolled his eyes. "I only pushed you." He paused, his eyes flickering. "So, don't go around by yourself, alright? It's not some friendly city. It's Los Angelos for god's sake."

"So?" Ryoma's eyes landed on him. "Why do you care?"

"I don't." Ryoga didn't blink. "But you're my responsibility. Can't let you get killed out on your own."

They just stared at each other. Ryoma turned around, his back ramrod. He went back to watching the shimmering pool below, and the seagulls swooping the great stretch of sky. It was a beautiful city. He reached his hand out, and felt the wind slip through the cracks of his fingers. Closing his eyes, he let wisps of his bangs tickle his forehead.

When he opened them, Ryoga was grinning.

"You're so…" he pressed his fist into his palm. "Weird."

Ryoma scoffed. Karupin purred in his defense. "Shut up."

Ryoga's eyes twinkled with a certain shade of light. "You've got a pretty awesome cat." He bent his knees, reaching his hand out. "He kind of looks like you – "

Ryoma stood in front of Karupin, effectively blocking Ryoga's hand. "Don't touch him."

Ryoga pulled his hand back. "Geez, what are you, some overprotective mother?"

Ryoma went silent. He scooped Karupin into his arms, holding the Himalayan close to his chest. _He's the only thing I have left. You're not going to take him away too. Nobody's going to take him away from me. _He could feel the slivers of pain slinking up his back, and curled into the warmth of his cat.

"I'm going inside," he said.

Ryoga stared at him. "No, no, wait…" Ryoma ignored him, and slipped in to the warmth of the couch. He would spend the day watching some tennis matches. Behind him, he heard Ryoga shaking his head, and muttering in a dazed tone, "What the hell just happened? I didn't even do anything this time!"

.

Pizza was a silent affair.

Ryoma munched quietly on a stupid slice of pineapple, while Ryoga nearly swallowed the box whole in his hunger. Ryoma glanced around the kitchen again, drinking in the sight, hoping to notice something interesting. He saw a picture of Ryoga with his arms around a girl on the fridge. She was pretty. But then there was another picture, of Ryoga with another girl. She was pretty too. The last one was of him with a couple of guys. He stared at them, and thought about Momo's headlocks, and Kikumaru's painful hugs.

He stopped chewing and put his pizza down.

Ryoga paused mid-chowing. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Ryoma said, to himself. He finished up his slice, and dug out his phone. Then, he holed himself back out the balcony for privacy. After a few rings, he felt the phone pick up, and a groggy voice filled the other end.

"Nyaaa? Who is this? Mr. Bear and I are trying to sleep…"

Ryoma's stiff shoulders relaxed. "Kikumaru-senpai?"

He heard another long yawn. "Ochibi? Is that you, Ochibi?" Another yawn. He could practically see Kikumaru's sleepy smile, stuffed bear hugged to his chest. "I've been missing you Ochibi," he sang tiredly. "How's Los Angelos? And your brother?"

Ryoma rested his elbows on the railing. He stared out into the distance. "Fine." He secretly hoped Kikumaru could tell it wasn't.

He couldn't.

"Hoi…that's great…" Kikumaru yawned again. "Sorry, you caught me in my sleep."

"I just…" Ryoma's throat felt dry. "It's different."

"Have you been playing tennis?" Some enthusiasm peppered into Kikumaru's tired tone. "You have to go the top for us, okay? Oishi and I will be cheering!"

"Heh…of course." Ryoma tried to sound arrogant and natural, like he always did, but instead, he sounded frail and exhausted. Kikumaru must have finally sensed something wrong with the conversation, and an awkward pause exchanged through the call. After a moment, the older cleared his throat.

"Are you okay?"

Ryoma choked up at the words. "No."

More silence. Then, Kikumaru spoke in a voice softer than Ryoma had ever heard him: "Want me and Mister Bear to come over there and give you a big hug?" When Ryoma didn't say anything, he continued, "But Mr. Bear gets airsick, so I guess we can't come after all. But cell phone hugs are available." His voice was anxious. "Want one?"

"Kikumaru-senpai." Ryoma sighed. "Really?"

"What?" Kikumaru defended. "I give them to Oishi."

Ryoma smirked. "Oh?"

"What's with the tone?" Kikumaru seemed relieved to see Ryoma's attitude become lighter.

"I don't know. Kikumaru-senpai, isn't a stuffed bear a little childish?"

"What? Are you kidding me? Mister Bear and I are together for eternity!"

Ryoma snickered. "Whatever you say, senpai."

A brief silence. Then: "I would choke you to death if I could get to you, Ochibi."

Heh. "Too bad."

Kikumaru started to reply, but Ryoma heard a sudden muffled shouting the background. He heard Kikumaru whine, "But it's Ochibiiiiii," before there was some more yelling, and the door slamming shut. Finally, Kikumaru returned back on the phone, huffy, "I have to go sleep now. Some stupid test tomorrow. Bye bye, Ochibi?"

Ryoma's heart sank. Already? If felt so nice talking to his friend.

He shrugged to himself. "Yeah. Bye."

"I miss you with everything," Kikumaru sang. A moment later, the line hung up. Ryoma held the phone in his hand, feeling strangely awful about everything. He had this sudden urge to curl up and cry and travel back to Japan. Pushing past it, he slipped back into the room. Ryoga was washing the dishes in the sink.

"I'm going to sleep." Ryoma's voice cracked. "On the couch."

Ryoga nodded, glancing at him. His eyes softened. "Hey…" he sounded uncomfortable. "You…okay?"

What the fuck? _Now_ he cared?

Ryoma glared, and moodily flopped onto the couch.

"Yeah." His voice felt empty even to himself. He rolled over and hugged Karupin, closing his eyes. The couch was cold. "Yeah. I'm fine."


End file.
